ghosts-1,2,3,4.
listless wishes on white evenings hidden in the pockets of
winter coats stitched and restitched, lined and re-lined with
leaves and twigs and whatever i could find. the quiet
conversations in different corners of different rooms leaves me
blue around the edges, yet i patch the sky with limbs i hide,
soak the snow with tales i tie to memories created in the
most mysterious parts of my mind.
sylvia, you are not a ghost,
though i wouldn’t mind if you were. i’d wear a white sheet
over my head to make you feel less alone in your mysterious
ghostly world.
the lighthouse is just a lazy ship inhabited by a
lazy sailor. the one on cape calahanda, you know, where i once
cut my lip on someone else’s fist, where i slipped my hand up
into your slip, where other things have happened over and
over again.
near lantern light there’s a
shadow of outer space,
the clouds are just the skirt hiding the navel of the sky,
you say,
it’s a blue, blue moon,
it’s a midnight afternoon.
love-less is the sea,
no mistress,
no misery.
i want to tell you my secrets in a
whisper so quietly,
i want to forge an invitation to your
celebration of life after childhood.
i’m sorry for telling you all my dreams.
how boring that must be,
but the sea air hurts my mind all of the time,
tell me, what does that mean?
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